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I Told You the Mets Were Going to Ruin Tom Glavine

This past offseason, borderline Hall of Fame pitcher Tom Glavine agreed to terms with the satanic New York Mets on a three-year-deal worth $35 million. He should've asked for $135 million, or spoken to Bobby Bonilla, Frank Viola, Eddie Murray, Vince Coleman, Bret Saberhagen, Mo Vaughn, Jeromy Burnitz or Roberto Alomar first.

Shea Stadium, you see, is the place where careers go to die.

The line from Glavine's first start as a Met, a big, fat 15-2 loss:
Innings: 3.2
Hits: 8
Walks: 5
Earned Runs: 5
ERA: 12.27

I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so.

Time to Hit the Links

I don't do this enough anymore: share interesting web finds. Bon voyage.

• Rocklopedia Fakebandica — A database of fictional bands and singers from TV and movies. Remember Willis Jackson's funk band The Afrodisiacs? How 'bout Zack Attack from Saved by the Bell? I'm huge on Lenny and the Squigtones from Laverne & Shirley, but there is no band on the planet, real or imaginary, that can hold a candle to Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem.

• Cough Stuff: A Web Site About the Passion for Coughing Women — Oh, I'm getting so horny looking at these pictures. Oh, baby, don't stop hacking. Louder. Faster. Not in my face. (Thanks, Punchy)

• Flash Movie: Do Your Boobs Hang Low? — If you've got 45 seconds to see a dancing, animated grandma smack herself in the face with drooping tits, I suggest viewing this one.

• List of Chat Acronyms — From BRB to TTYL to ROTFLMAOWPIMP, all those stupid, stupid geek-speak shortcuts are here. Here's another: WDTFHTHUIFOGS - "Why do those Frenchies have their hands up in front of Girl Scouts?"

• The Playboy Advisor — The second-best part of the magazine is now online, and since the first can be downloaded just about everywhere a week after the pictures are published, there really is no reason to buy the magazine. Although they keep sending it to me. (My last issue was supposed to be three months ago.)

• Lung Cancer Risk Assessment Tool — It's really only for people aged 50-75, which is about three of my visitors, but it's always fun to predict death.

• 50 Most Memorable Lines in Movie History — With Crocodile Dundee in the top 10, you know not to take this ranking seriously. If we were, No. 1 would certainly be, "Maybe you can help me straighten out my Longfellow," said by the great Rodney Dangerfield in Back to School A close second would be "Why don't you call me when you have no class?"

• eBay's 2003 Community Conference — Because you can never be surrounded by too many Beanie Baby-collecting nerds.

• How to Get Through Jail Time — A consultant to white-collar criminals participates in Business 2.0's "expert" series. My advice: Stay away from Bogs.

• New Robot Fido Doubles as a Dildo — Doggie. Bone. So many directions to go here. (Thanks, Punchy)

• 10 Best Gossip Sites — For those too lazy to walk to the store for a copy of People.

• Zurich's True Beauty — Warning: heavy picture load. But they're pictures of hot-ass women. (Thanks, Kevin)

• "Don't Be an Ass-Clown" T-Shirt — I saw this t-shirt on the rack in the WWF store in Times Square and I think it took like 10 minutes to stop laughing. Get one for your little camper today!

Make No Mistake, Syracuse Made Oklahoma Play Like Shit

In its first two possessions Sunday in the Elite Eight against Syracuse, Oklahoma used up the 35-second clock each time and got off a grand total of one bad jump shot. I knew at that point, less then two minutes into the game, that the Sooners weren't capable of beating the Orangemen and their 2-3 zone.

I was right. Syracuse is heading to the Final Four in New Orleans.

After the game, I caught an interview with Oklahoma coach Kelvin Sampson, who, while crediting Syracuse for a job well done, also acknowledged the partisan crowd in Albany, N.Y., and judged that his team had played better during the year. Well, of course it had. Oklahoma hadn't played Syracuse during the year.

Let's not assume that playing poorly is akin, in entirety, to shooting oneself in the foot. While the Sooners were bouncing the rock around outside the three-point arc — with no apparent confidence to shoot — or kicking the ball to the pivot man (who then promptly kicked it back out), it was clear Oklahoma was simply not capable of beating Syracuse today. And maybe not any day. They couldn't figure out how to get good shots. And when you don't take good shots, you don't make a lot of them. Simple as that, and the balls wouldn't have fallen any more frequently on a more typical neutral court.

The "we played poorly" misconception was big in January, when, in three straight weeks, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers ran into Michael Vick on a bad day, Donovan McNabb on a bad day and Rich Gannon on a bad day. Tampa Bay did not benefit from good luck; more like those opponents caught the Bucs on a good day. And they deserve all the credit for their Super Bowl march.

And so, today, I congratulate my alma mater on a job well done. It made a No. 1 seed play like shit.

Holy Shit, I'm Back

No, I wasn't drunk the last half-week. I was only drunk Wednesday, Friday and Saturday nights. And 'Cuse plays for the Final Four on Sunday, so do the math there. (Brother Jimmy's west side at 1:30 p.m. if anyone's interested. Yes, I know the game is not till 2:40 p.m.)

Earlier this week, my web host was hacked by an evil force (probably a Mets fan) — blocking me from posting and preventing thousands of people from e-mailing me pictures of nude midgets — and due to her indomitable determination, I shall return with Crank Yankers and Rodney Dangerfield jokes ASAP.

I feel like Samson on Rogaine. Only I didn't spend $55 per bottle on shit that doesn't work.

Baseball 2003: The Empire Strikes Back

Stock up on the Kleenex, people. Baseball season kicks off Sunday and the team you love to hate — the one with the pinstripes and 26 World Series championships — returns pretty much the same roster that won 103 games last season, except we added Japan's best hitter and Cuba's best pitcher. It's like how the Mets revamp every offseason, only we don't get guys who go straight into the tank. (Tom Glavine: Sell! Sell! Sell!)

(I am not even pretending that the 2002 postseason even happened. Every scrub who ever wore an Angels uniform came of the bench to hit .700 against the Yanks' arsenal of hurlers. I think Bobby Grich went 17-for-20 with 12 HRs or something.)

Anyway, the team to beat this year, according to a lot of "experts," is the A's, a franchise people have been expecting to take the next step for the past 10 years. They couldn't beat the Yankees with Jason Giambi in 2000 and 2001, and they couldn't beat the Twins (a team the Yankees' Triple-A team could have defeated) last season with the AL's MVP and Cy Young Award winner. And then the A's lost their manager, so I don't really see what the fuss it about, but I digress.

Even Sports Illustrated is picking the A's to win their World Series, which is fine with me. SI hasn't gotten a prediction right since they said Shaquille O'Neal would score a lot of points for the Lakers. The biggest problem I have with SI is that they put the Yanks on the cover of its baseball preview edition, after two straight years of cursing them with the same distinction. (The Yanks never graced the baseball preview issue in the championship years of 1996, and 1998-2000.) So thanks for nothing to those assholes. Now I might have to suffer through some broken-bat bullshit bloop to end the World Series, a la 2001, or seeing guys named Eckstein and Spezio hit career homers Nos. 1 through 20 in a single playoff series against New York.

Around the horn: Playboy picks the A's over Diamondbacks, Sportsline.com's Scott Miller says Cardinals over A's and Maxim Online has the Yanks and Astros at 1-2.

Other Baseball Links:

ESPN.com Page 2: World Series Is Sports' Best Tournament — When your team is in it — and mine usually is — the baseball playoffs are thrilling, the drama in close games just builds and builds. And there's no coming down from the high. What a great feeling to see your team win a big postseason game and get to do it all over again in 24 hours.

Baseball's State-of-the-Art Stats — Slate examines the fancy formulas general managers and agents use to assess players' worth.

Ranking the MLB Managers — Charlie McCarthy, a guy I used to work with, rates Bobby Cox as the best manager in baseball. I understand how incredible the Braves' regular seasons have been over the past decade, but I wouldn't trade Joe Torre for that guy in 100 years, which is how long its gonna take for the Braves to win another World Series.

Play MLB.com's Beat the Streak — Select one player every day to get a hit. Pick correctly for 56 straight days and win season tickets to the team of your choice. Log on to this site 56 straight days and watch your sex life disapper.

Playboy Interviews David Wells — The boated Yankees left-hander calls his assailant from last year's diner skirmish "just some drunk idiot who had a problem that night." Wells, of course, was also wasted and abusive to 9-1-1 operators. Sounds to me like there were two idiots present.

The Pinstriped Bible — Nineteen commandments on baseball strategy and evaluation, including why Mariano Duncan's 1996 season (when he hit .340) wasn't so great and why no closer is worth $5 million more than another.

80 Days That Changed the World

Buried deep within an understandably war-heavy issue of TIME this week is 80 Days That Changed the World, a look back at four scores of impactful moments in the 80 years since the magazine published its initial issue, dated March 3, 1923 and picturing Joseph G. Cannon.

Looking back on those moments — from Hitler's practice power grab in 1923 to the return of Ayatullah Ruhollah Khomeini in 1979 to the ascension of Osama bin Laden as the leader of jihad in 1989 — it's amazing we're here at all, especially considering the volatile state of the world right now.

But a little history and a lot of perspective, which is the focus of the brief and mostly "I was there" essays on each event, are what helped me get through 9/11. Reading about Hiroshima reminds me of how small we are, how war is so apocalyptic that killing 350,000 instantly can actually be considered an act of saving lives — and yet we still made it to the near-perfect days of the late '90s. The major-league debut of Jackie Robinson proves how big we can be, how one man can inspire millions — and yet hate continues to breed, with terrorists killing civilians across the globe.

And life goes on. If you're lucky enough.

A few highlights from the 80 moments (see complete list):

• Finding the King's Fortune (March 3, 1938) — The story behind the discovery of oil in Saudi Arabia that "would emerge as a crucial factor in Middle East politics and the bargaining over global energy supplies"

• The Night Hope Shattered (Nov. 9, 1938) — A German Jew recounts the night when Nazi hatred took on a public face. He writes, "the Nazis did not openly incite the whole population to kill publicly. Before, people were killed secretly and individually..."

• What I Saw at Pearl Harbor (Dec. 7, 1941) — A young Hawaiian of Japanese descent witnesses the attack, then joins the fight to defend his country, America.

• The Infamous Day in Dallas (Nov. 22, 1963) — Longtime TIME White House correspondent Hugh Sidey recounts the assassination of JFK, from the blood on Jackie's dress to the argument over payment for the casket.

• Good Night, Vietnam (April 30, 1975) — A sad day to end one of the darkest periods in American history. Thousands of South Vietnamese tried in vain to flee with the Americans as the last helicopter departed Saigon.

• Color Us Divided on O.J. (Oct. 3, 1995) — Yes, the trial was a circus, but the racial division of support is not to be taken lightly. Think the L.A. riots can't happen again? I've never met a semi-intelligent person who didn't think O.J. did it.

(Another interesting feature of the project is the new TIME magazine cover search, where you can view such subject-related collections as sports, Internet, World War II or whatever keywords you select.)

Great Moments in Women's History

Last week, I was looking through Time Out New York to find interesting NYC events to attend. I came across a listing for a breakfast panel entitled, Women and Power: Adapting to a Changing Economy. After waking myself back up, I realized that in the last few weeks, while celebrating Mardi Gras, spring break, St. Patrick's Day and the NCAA basketball tournament, I had neglected to recognize March as Women's History Month. Shame on me.

Presenting some of the greatest achievements by broads...

First Hooters Opens in Clearwater, Fla. — They said it couldn't be done: making men horny for women dressed in pantyhose and sneakers. But today Hooters is the envy of every restaurant chain looking to secure the most prevalent demographic in the United States: those who think NASCAR is a clothing line. We can look back at October 4, 1983 as the day that changed cheesiness forever.

Wilt Chamberlain Fan Gets Sloppy Twenty-Thousandths — In 1991, while the Big Dipper was putting the finishing touches on "A View From Above," one lucky lady made certain that Wilt's 50.4 per game scoring average in 1962 would not be the most startling statistic in the autobiography.

Woman Scalds Vagina With McDonald's Coffee — Piping hot was the best way to describe 79-year-old Stella Liebeck's inner thighs, buttocks, and genitals one 1994 morning after spilling McDonald's coffee between her legs while trying to remove the lid. Her stripping career was thusly ended but a court awarded her $480,000, as well as whatever windfall came out of a post-verdict settlement.

Pamela Anderson Lee Cuts Deal to Allow Sale of Stolen Video Tape — Apparently satisfied with the distribution of their homemade porn tape, as long as they get a cut of the action, Pamela and Tommy Lee settle with Internet Entertainment Group in 1997 to allow the public to see just how good the Baywatch babe is at giving a blowjob.

Where in the World Is Tori Spelling's Brain? — Around 1999, while playing a quiz show on the Howard Stern radio program, the former Beverly Hills 90210 actress is asked, "What is the capital of New York?" Her answer: "New Jersey?"

Post a comment and share your favorite moments in women's history.

My Night at the Oscars

I hate movies, but love spectacles, so I watched the Oscars and took notes...

8:39 p.m.: Even though I just walked into my apartment (you think I'm gonna come home early for this Hollywood bullshit?) Steve Martin already made me laugh out loud by saying that Lord of the Rings was "a great download." I'd call Martin a comedic genius, but he doesn't seem close enough to suicide or a drug overdose to warrant such a label.

8:41 p.m.: I just realized I committed four hours of my time to watching this crap. And I have only four beers left in the fridge after drinking at least eight earlier Sunday during Syracuse's victory and my triumph in the Amsterdam Billiard Club league. Is 12 beers gonna be enough to stomach the anti-war sentiments planted in the same speeches that thank public relations weasels?

8:49 p.m.: Wow, Keanu Reeves sounds as robotic in real life as he does in the movies. Or, in my case, movie, as I promised after Point Blank to never, ever see anything with him in it again.

8:58 p.m.: Jennifer Lopez just took the stage, and I can't decide whether she is the most overrated "sexy" woman ever or if it's Anna Kournikova. Katarina Witt used to be high on that list, but her Playboy layout wasn't bad.

9:10 p.m.: Peter Jennings breaks into the Oscars coverage, without any breaking news about the war from Iraq. I think the Oscars audience is fully aware that there are news options, and this reeks of an ad for ABC News.

9:30 p.m.: Still waiting for something interesting to happen so I can comment on it. Over the last 20 minutes, the only thing worth noting is that I am getting pretty good at playing John Mellencamp's "Lonely Ol' Night"

9:38 p.m.: A very pregnant Catherine Zeta-Jones trots her ample breasts on stage to accept the award for Best Actress in a Supporting Role. That's gonna be one lucky baby.

10:02 p.m.: Is there a Crank Yankers rerun on Comedy Central? I need something to keep me awake till past midnight. Hey, I know, online porn.

10:17 p.m.: Michael Moore just won an Academy Award for Bowling for Columbine and I'm really scared of what he's going to say in this time of war.

10:19 p.m.: Michael Moore uses someone else's stage at an entertainment event to make an outrageously inappropriate political statement. What a selfish asshole.

10:32 p.m.: Colin Farrell is presenting an award. If this man's penis has been in Britney Spears, please kill me.

10:37 p.m.: U2 just got done performing a totally uninspiring version of ... I'm not sure. This show is so boring that it took the air out of the world's most popular band. Oh, how I long for 1999 when Titanic took home everything and the most pressing concern was Y2K.

10:51 p.m.: Five seconds after thinking Adrien Broedy has no fucking chance of beating Jack Nicholson, Michael Caine and Daniel Day-Lewis for Best Actor in a Leading Role, the dude wins. I would now like to say that there is no way I'll win the lottery someday, and Syracuse has no chance of advancing to the Final Four next week.

11:01 p.m.: Eminem just won an Oscar for "Lose Yourself," and a Doug Henning look-alike is accepting the award in a Detroit Pistons jersey while an orchestra butchers the song. No wonder he didn't show up.

11:16 p.m.: Denzel Washington takes the stage to present the award for Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role. He's the first black man I've seen all night. Halle Berry has been on camera several times, but never without following a reference to how hot she is. Discuss amongst yourselves.

11:26 p.m.: Olivia de Havilland, a two-time winner of Actress in a Leading Role (1946, '49), gets a standing ovation. There's no way in hell this whole crowd knows who she is.

11:35 p.m.: The Academy completes its "portrait" of past Oscars winners, but I didn't once hear the name Rodney Dangerfield. If that's not enough of a travesty, I am now being told that I should stay tuned for an appearance by Ben Affleck. At least I have three minutes to get the barf bag.

11:54 p.m.: Roman Polanski wins the Oscar for Best Director for The Pianist and gets a standing ovation. It's the loudest applause ever given to a man who as Slate writes it "lured a 13-year-old girl to his friend Jack Nicholson's house and then, by his own admission, had sex with her."

12:00 a.m.: Steve Martin ended the show by thanking the men and women "watching overseas" and saying, "this show was for you." Yes, every single minute of Hollywood gluttony was, indeed, for those who are watching not for surrendering Iraqi soldiers who turn around and kill but to see if Nicole Kidman won her first Oscar. And I must say that while Nicole's dress sucked, I was happy for her, because it looked like her divorce was a painful and embarrassing episode.

That Is NOT My Pop-Up Ad

InterTracker, a free traffic-reporting service I have spoke highly of, has resorted to the following tactics without notifying any of its customers first:

• Changing, without warning, from invisible JavaScript code to an "InterTracker" label that busted many sites' designs
• Changing, without warning, from the "InterTracker" label, to a "Start Making Money Online" ad that was not sanctioned by me or any other site
• Changing, without warning, from the "Start Making Money Online" ad to a pop-up with the same message, a third strike and the cruelest form of sabotaging one's site — to give it the impression that it would patronize its visitors with disruptive forms of advertising

I am now looking for another free stats service. Or pay service. I will not pay InterTracker the $30/year it wants to eliminate the ads, not because the service wasn't flawless, but because it has lost my trust. I will not tolerate being taken advantage of, or having my visitors taken advantage of.

Again, these pop-up ads are not my doing. I do not endorse them. And I am fuming.

I signed up for a stats service, not an advertising service. You motherfuckers.

Would You Pay $89 to Get Groped in the Dark?

You're not going to believe this, but there are gatherings of singles in New York where the lights go out, alcohol is served and food goes flying. And I'm not even involved.

I found out about this phenomenon in "Single New Yorkers Seek Soulmates in the Dark," a story posted by Reuters.

It's a review of "Dinner in the Dark," one of the many local parties and events promoted by Cosmo Party. It's basically a four-course gourmet meal served in complete darkness (guests are escorted to bathrooms by night-vision goggle-equipped waiters). Champagne and fine wine are included, but you supply the groping. Or at least one guy did, and bragged about it later.

Even though I'll do just about anything once, I can't think of a single reason why I would do something like this ... except for the sake of being a goof and writing a report for PK.com. In other words, there's a better chance of it happening than probably I even recognize.

Time Out New York also reviewed an event and reports, "One table engages in a risqué round of truth-or-dare; a few undeterred minglers hop — or rather, grope — their way from table to raucous table."

You can imagine what the upcoming Gay Dinner in the Dark is gonna look like when the lights come on. (Condom wrappers, anyone?) And now I see that my friend Murph is sponsoring a Dinner in the Dark on April's Fool's Day. ("Hey, we're going to a regular dinner with lights and everything, and no one's gonna grab your ass. April Fools!")

I feel like Crank Yankers' Elmer Higgins. What the hell is going on in this city?!? Is it so hard to say, "My, you're eyes are stunning?" "That's a pretty name." "May I squeeze your breasts?" Have we all been reduced to groping vampires? God knows what they must be doing in Hoboken.

Other New York Links

NYC Sales & Bargains (Updated Weekdays) — A great link for chicks, gays and cheap fucks.

America's Unsafest Cities — Money ranks the cities in which you are most likely to be a victim of a crime. Think you'll find New York on the list? Au contraire, mon frere. The Big Apple ranks No. 2 on the mag's list of America's Safest Cities.

Street Studio's NYC Portraits — I met a guy named Clay at Coyote Ugly on Thursday night who was taking so many pictures, he made me look like I was there just to drink. Anyway, his pictures of NYC characters are pretty cool.

Cleaning Out My Closet Camera

I took advantage of the great weather Saturday to play football in Central Park and visit the Central Park Zoo, where I took a bunch of pictures and cropped out the zillions of little boogers running amuck. It was a jovial contrast to a week that NBA star David Robinson (and Naval academy grad) described best: sobering.

Apart from the animal shots, there are a few other NYC scenes I hadn't posted yet. (See full album.)

Playboy Celebrates 50 Years and Thousands of Breasts

I've seen Brooke Burke, Elle MacPherson and Stephanie Seymour naked, and it's all due to Hugh Hefner, a man so smart he makes Albert Einstein look like Mallory Keaton. He had the greatest business plan of all time: make millions of dollars off of women begging to pose nude ... and then screw them!

No wonder he ranked No. 2 when I wrote my list of greatest men ever.

I recently wrote about the decline of Playboy magazine, pegged to the fact that they aren't getting enough A-list celebs to pose nude in order to divert attention from the biggest ocean of porn any man could ever wish for: the Internet. But Playboy's 50th anniversary website has it back in my good graces. It's a well-done site with a complete cover collection, audio snippets from famous interviews and a countdown of the magazine's 50 most memorable images.

(The 50th anniversary isn't really till this December, but Christmas comes early, I guess.)

Some crazy people think Playboy has not made a positive impact on society, arguing that the pictorial subjects set unhealthy examples for female bodies and negatively affect women's self-esteem. Are they right? Probably. Not like I care.

War Discussion Will Be Done in the Message Boards

The war in Iraq is my primary interest right now, but it will not be the primary topic on this site. Political debate is not what I do best. You're better off getting intelligent and accurate information from the links to your right.

However, I will post articles that I find of interest related to the war in the News section of my message board. Today's post contains links to such articles as Slate's guide to what you should and shouldn't worry about as we go to war and an eyewitness account of Saddam's atrocities.

You're all encouraged to post your own links and engage in flame-free discussion.

Last Call to Get on Syracuse's Bandwagon

For the Syracuse Orangemen, there once was a time when NCAA Tournament disappointment was like Christmas. It happened once a year. We call this period my freshman through senior years, back when it had been only 12 years, not 20, since Georgetown fielded a white player. (This was also around the time G'Town admitted "student"-athletes Allen Iverson and Victor Page into the same institution that educated Bill Clinton.)

But times have changed. Georgetown can't buy a win, and picking the 'Cuse to advance to this year's Final Four in New Orleans is more fashionable than your gay roommate. Clear your heads right now of me ever going to The Big Easy to see the Orangemen. That combination would require a reservation at one of the local hospitals for a full stomach pump. Although it would sure beat the last place the 'Cuse played the Final Four in: a little toxic waste dump we like to call New Jersey, in 1996.

One of my favorite NCAA Tournament memories was, ironically, the one in which Syracuse laid, up till that time, the biggest egg ever — becoming the first No. 2 seed to lose in the first round in a 64-team field. It was Thursday, March 14, 1991 and I was a freshman who was turned on to the school in part by seeing pictures of the impossibly insane parties to celebrate the team's 1987 Final Four appearance. Our whole dorm was devastated, but we cheered up one day later, when we ponied up $20 for an all-you-can-drink-all-weekend St. Pat's Day special at 44's on Marshall Street. Doors opened at 8 a.m. and closed at 2 a.m. all three days, and I managed to get drunk six times in one weekend, even though I'd just turned only 18 years old. (Thank you fake Illinois ID.)

NCAA Tournament Links:

ESPN Ranks the Contenders — Kentucky is the pick to win it all, but Syracuse is one of seven that's deemed to have a legit shot. Not among that mix: Kansas, Duke and Florida.

SI's Postseason Awards — The 'Cuse's Carmelo Anthony gets a second-team All-America nod, but coach of the year and surprise of the year don't even consider the tremendous job turned in by Jim Boeheim and his team of young studs.

Top 10 Tourney Upsets — The Syracuse-Richmond game of 1991 isn't listed. Thank god that's behind us. UNLV losing that year was just as improbable. We used to stay up late at night just to watch them kill teams on ESPN.

Syracuse Post-Standard's Team-by-Team Predictions — The newspaper has the hometown boys going to the Sweet 16, but no further. Pittsburgh and Xavier — along with Oklahoma and Arizona — are its teams to head to New Orleans.

Since You Care So Much What I Think

I'm mailing in the update today with some things I want to throw at you. Comments always encouraged.

THE WAR
I trust our government collectively, more than individually (if that makes any sense) to make the best decisions they can for our country. Alone they may sometimes be spinmeisters who aren't wholly altruistic, but I feel that top-level politicians' fear of fucking up leads us to take the most sensible route based on the information they have, which is 1,000 times more complex than what I could ever pretend to compute.

I do not feel guilty to be American this week.

MICHELLE'S CONTEST
Our favorite Texas co-ed, Michelle from Michelle's Wonderland, jumped into the No.1 position for D magazine's 10 most beautiful contest soon after I helped give her a boost with Friday's post. She got so many votes over the weekend that she was disqualified over suspicion of foul play. So now she's in the process of proving innocence even though it's perfectly logical that someone with her online popularity — assisted by you horny toads — would fare well in any Internet contest.

MY INTERVIEW
I recently granted an interview to SportsBeerAndBabes.com, and it's featured on the site's index page. In it, I discuss everything from sports cards to Joe Millionaire to Lay the Fuck Off Baseball Month to Nicole Eggert. And if any of you are design experts, give this guy some help. He's got a site dedicated to the most manly topics around, and it looks like it was designed by Boy George.

MY HOUSECLEANING SERVICE
They're AWOL. No returns of my phone calls and e-mails after missing an appointment a couple of weeks ago. And I ain't cleaning this place up myself. Anyone out there got a good maid service in NYC? And I mean a real contact. Don't just say, "I know some Russian chick."

THE NCAA TOURNAMENT
Full coverage on PK.com tomorrow.

Gangs of Albany, New York

I never thought I'd ever laugh at the sight of one of my friends getting hit over the head with a 22-oz. bottle, but he asked for it. And by that I mean he said, "Hey, dude, take that bottle and smash it over my head." I was never so happy to have my camera locked and loaded.

It was the perfect capper to a weekend filled with empty bravado, alcohol-induced miscalculation and mob rule. In other words, fraternity life. (See the weekend photos.)

Earlier in the week, the same Egyptian friend who hates the U.S. government asked if I wanted to check out his old SUNY Albany fraternity's Kegs n' Eggs party, a packed 8 a.m. Saturday bash that hosted at a nearby bar. Despite such warnings from my friends as, "You're gonna fucking hate it," I decided to ride shotgun with duct tape in tow, in case he chemical-bombed me in the passenger seat. At various times during the weekend, I'd wished he had.

Kegs n' Eggs was a legit wild party. Beer was literally flying in the early morn' as the frat boys discarded their shirts in what was the most homoerotic scene since "The Crying Game." One kid exposed his ass the entire time and I railed him for getting it slapped more times by his brothers than by women. Another guy pissed in a corner while his really inattentive or really insecure girlfriend hung onto him. But the highlight for me was seeing a pledge boot out an invader into the frat's VIP area, earning the penultimate adulation from the brothers, who had never held a real job or lived alone or fallen in love but were lightning quick at dispensing sage advice to 18-year-olds. The pledge later barfed seven times in front of me, proving that he will someday make a perfect addition to the house.

The rest of the weekend was filled with vapid girls and packs of men reminiscing about fights, getting into fights and planning their next fights. And I authored a new equation: (young men + alcohol) - pussy = confrontation.

Here's what else I saw:

• * A 16-year-old drunk in a bar — twice
• * A kid throw a 40-oz. bottle through the window of a bar that just kicked him out
• * A puke-stained futon get broken into pieces
• * A guy run towards a brother, who slipped to the side and watched the other slam into a wall
• * A 300-pound bouncer throw a tall, skinny kid through an emergency exit door. I would not bet on the kid being alive

Apart from the fighting, I was involved in a lot of these same drunken hijinks at Syracuse University. I was going to bars as early as 17 and celebrating my newfound freedom and thinking I was too sexy for my shirt, as well. The good news is that someday they'll learn that independence, individuality and intelligence — not having back-up in fights — are qualities of a true in-crowd. But you have to leave college to get that kind of education.

Call Me the Nostradomus of T&A

On Jan. 29, I interviewed Michelle of Michelle's Wonderland, an online playpen for a blonde and boobalicious sorority chick. I asked her, "How long are we going to have to wait before you pose topless? I'm giving you three months."

Gentlemen, the time has come, and we're not even at the end of March.

Her site now features a link to a different Michelle's Wonderland targeted at an 18+ crowd. Here's the pitch: "The photos are uncensored and yes ... you're going to see some things you haven't seen before."

Clearly, Michelle's loss (of clothing) is our gain. So I want you all to show your appreciation and vote for her as one of Dallas' 10 hottest women. (She's the second gal in the second row.)

(This will be my last post till late Sunday night. I'm about to head up to SUNY Albany for the weekend — something about kegs n' eggs and thousands of drunk coeds. Yes, I'm bringing the camera. I can't believe I agreed to do this.)

I Kinda Wish These People Were Dead

These are the captions of the two photos above that crossed the wire today:

Shiite Muslim men cut their heads with swords during a ceremony of Ashoura held in Nabatiyeh, March 13, 2003. Shiites in Lebanon commemorate the killing of Imam Hussein, grandson of the Prophet Mohammed, by his rival over 1,400 years ago. More than 150,000 Lebanese packed the streets of Beirut's southern suburbs on Thursday, chanting 'Death to America, death to Israel,' in a mass rally called by Lebanon's Hizbollah guerrilla group.

You know, I'm not a big fan of religion. My thought is, if there are 100 different religions out there, then at least 99 of them are wrong. And I'm not about to argue who's right or wrong, because no one has any proof. I think most teachings that apply to sex and gays and abortion are antiquated, and I'd rather live my life based on what I understand to be ethical in 2003, not what someone penned thousands of years ago. The Golden Rule? I love it. No meat on Fridays? That's fucking retarded.

Anyway, it's a fact that a lot of horny people and a lot of gays and a lot of people who've had abortions are contributing a lot more to the world than those who are bleeding themselves and wishing death on America and Israel. I believe, frankly, that the world would be a better (safer) place without people who practice such rituals. They scare the shit out of me. As a American who values freedom, I support their right to engage in any activity that does not threaten others. I'm not sure that these people are non-threatening. People who bleed themselves and wish death on America, for the sake of religious duty or otherwise, are, in my opinion, frightening. I kinda wish these people were dead.

Move Over, Mantle, Mays and Musial. Here Comes Uecker!

Check the date, folks. It's not April's Fool's Day, and Bob Uecker, a career .200 hitter with 14 lifetime HRs, was picked Thursday for induction into the broadcasters' wing at the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Right on.

Uecker, who has been broadcasting games since 1971, made a name for himself in those famous Miller Lite "Less Filling, Taste Great" commercials that were produced to help change public opinion of light beer from the drink of pussies to the one that even burly sporting champions enjoy.

He also starred as the dad on Mr. Belvedere, which lasted a long time on TV, but I don't think anyone can name any of the characters. Wait, there was Wesley, right?

And, of course, he was the hard-drinking Indians annoucer in Major League, who claimed that the Yankees slugger Clew Haywood should've spent his offseason in jail. Low blow, man.

Said Uecker when asked to recount his career: "Career highlights? I had two. I got an intentional walk from Sandy Koufax and I got out of a rundown against the Mets."

Now This Guy Had 'Fuck You' Money

A few weeks ago, a bartender and I were chatting about the levels upon levels upon levels of wealth in New York — from the shoebox-sized studios to the $30 million apartments right down the street. One of the great things about this city is that no one is bigger than the whole. We walk the same streets and get stuck in the same traffic. And no matter how much stroke you got, the next guy to walk in the room, whether anyone recognizes him or not, can serve you up a piece of humble pie in a snap.

I know for a fact that on any given night at Yogi's, one of Manhattan's dirtiest dive bars — we're talking flies all over the bathrooms — you might find a guy drinking PBR who paid $300,000 in cash for his apartment. Another regular in the place is worth $4 million. And those are only the ones I know. No one really gives a shit. I think that is one of the great charms of New York.

Anyway, we got to thinking about the richest people of all time. According to American Heritage magazine, the list of 40 richest Americans of all time (compiled in 1998 and adjusted for inflation) is headed by John D. Rockefeller (oil), who would have been worth roughly $189.6 billion — or approximately three times Bill Gates' wealth — five years ago. He is followed by Andrew Carnegie (steel), Cornelius Vanderbilt (shipping) and John Jacob Astor (real estate).

Forget "fuck you money," these guys had "lick the backside of my balls money" — and were lucky that 401(k) had yet to be offered.

Other Web Finds:

12 Steps in Overcoming Masturbation — Because god forbid you make yourself feel good. No, really, god forbids it. (Thanks, Marc)

The Flash Mind Reader — Choose any two-digit number, do some computations, and this thing correctly guesses your selection.

Comedy Central's Online Games — Play The Man Show's Juggy's Wild Poker and the Insomniac Bar Hopper game.

Cataclysmic World Floods Expected — A crackpot claims to scientific evidence of a conspiracy to cover up cataclysmic global flooding. You have been warned.

Vinnie's Tampon Case — Apparently, crushed tampons are a problem. I really don't want to delve any deeper into this.

Review: Recent Urban Fashion

I used to get angry at the monkey-see-monkey-do fashion trends of the inner-cities. One rapper wears something and soon everyone's gotta have one. A bomber jacket. A hat with the stupid tag still on it. And sweatsuits in public!

But Tuesday took the cake. A coworker is doing a story on these fashionable throwback sports jerseys, so I looked at the price tag of a Willie Mays gray flannel No. 24. The price: $225! I had steam coming out of my ears. Folks, it does not cost anywhere near $225 to affix a few letters and two numbers to a god damn baseball jersey. The people who spend their precious disposable income on such things are just outbidding themselves in a quest to look, ironically, like everyone else.

Should we be surprised? No. Happens every time Jay-Z comes out with a new video. Presenting some of the worst urban fashion trends in recent memory.

Tommy Hilfiger — It was just as inconceivable then, as it is now, that street kids went ga-ga over a clothing line made for the preppiest people on the planet. If the cultural statement was we, too, can afford such luxury items, the irony is that most of the Hilfiger stuff bought in New York was knockoffs emanating from Canal Street.

NASCAR Jackets — OK, I swear this was a trend for a brief period. I was buying a leather jacket once, and this black couple — can I write black on the Internet? — came in to buy a NASCAR jacket adorned with more brand-name patches than one could withstand without getting dizzy. Including those of alcohol and cigarette companies who have been accused of aggressive marketing tactics in predominantly black neighborhoods! Guess the strategy worked.

Fubu — Ah, who could ride the NYC subways around the turn of the millennium without at least one glimpse of the ubiquitous No. 05? Not 5, mind you. Adding the 0 was like adding the extra tackiness to what was clearly the ugliest line of sports clothing in recent memory. I used to work with a guy — half guido, half wigger (guigger?) — who wore these things eight days a week.

Throwback Jerseys — Like a pair of khakis, no wardrobe is complete with the aforementioned $225 throwback jersey. It can go anywhere: school, work, the overcrowded club with metal detectors at the entrance. Choose your hero: Nolan Ryan, Joe Namath, Fran Tarkenton. All the white guys none of these kids cared for when they played the game.

Au Revoir, Michael Jordan. You Assclown

On the basketball court, the soon-to-be-thrice-retired Michael Jordan was such the mythical, conquering sporting champion that it was hard to truly hate him. Off the court, he was such a bland corporate shill that I found it hard to find any reason to like him.

How cool could a guy be when he's hawking Hanes tightie-whities and a Filet-O-Fish? And those Air Jordans? C'mon. What's black and white and red all over ... and are Sandra Berhnard-ugly with a price tag four times too high?

Another top-five athlete of the 20th Century, Jim Brown, has long criticized Jordan for not wielding his influence more for the benefit of something other than his wallet. I tend to agree, and not only because Brown is a fellow Syracuse alum, but because his 1990 book "Out of Bounds" warned us of a two-faced cokehead named O.J. Simpson. And I don't want to be the next person Brown tosses off a balcony.

This past Sunday, Michael Jordan made his final appearance at Madison Square Garden, where I saw his fifth game back from his first retirement (see picture). It was one of the hottest tickets in the last 10 years of New York sports, and our shitty seats could have fetched a few hundred dollars each. (Mind you, this was when the Knicks were the trendiest team in town, before the Yanks had broken a streak of 14 seasons without a playoff appearance.)

We decided to forego the monetary windfall and attend the game. MJ dropped 55 points — dubbed the double-nickel by Spike Lee — before passing out of a quintuple-team to find teammate Bill Wennington under the basket for a 113-111 win. Jordan and Wennington combined for 57 points on the night.

The respect in that building for what Jordan did was unlike any I'd ever seen. Us Knicks fans lost a heartbreaker, but there were as many people yelling "Oh, my god, did you see that?" as there were, "Jesus fucking Christ, Starks, get a hand in his fucking face!"

For that night only, I want to thank Jordan for being the New York villain we loved to hate. Without him, Patrick Ewing's legacy might be something more than a ringless wife-cheater. Only this time, please, stay out.

Other Michael Jordan Links

Sports' All-Time Clutch Performers — Hard to argue with MJ at No.1. The sport's all-time best was ever better in the postseason. Joe Montana was no slouch, either. John Elway at No. 3 is an absolute joke. The man lost his first three Super Bowls. Comebacks are overrated anyway. How do you think you get to make a comeback? You start to lose. Remember any Bulls or 49ers comebacks? Me, neither.

Jordan's Top 40 Moments — Sam Smith ranks the double-nickel at No. 14. Way too low.

Rick Reilly: Kobe's as Good — or Better — Than MJ — Captain Colorado says that prolific scorer Bryant deserves as much respect as we adorned on a young gunner we used to know in Chicago. (See rebuttal from MJ fan.)

Celebrity Endorsements: Who Sold What — A chart that, in part, details the demise of Jason Alexander from "Seinfeld" genius to Rold Gold pretzels pitchman.

James R. Jordan Boys & Girls Club and Family Life Center — The community center named after Michael's father, shot to death on the side of a North Carolina road in 1993. No one's all bad, you know, and no one deserves to see that happen to a parent.

Confessions of an Amateur Porn Chick

I know this chick who once videotaped her and her man having sex. She no longer has the tape. I asked her a few questions about it. Thought you horny toads might enjoy this exchange on a Monday.

1. Word has it that a you and a former lover videotaped a sex session. How did that situation come about?
Well, like all embarrassing moments, it started with alcohol. I was drinking, and we decided to rent something off the PPV, but nothing good was on, so we decided on renting the Spice channel for the night. The porn was cheesy as hell, and I blurted out how I thought for sure we could make a better amateur porn. And, well, there ya go. He needed no convincing; he had the video recorder out before I could say porn star.

2. Was the camera stationary, or did you have a videographer?
He held it, I held it, and then we did the tripod for a bit, too. It was a small camera.

3. What kinds of things did you do for the camera? Did you position yourselves differently to make sure it turned out good?
Sex with him always included different positions, but this time it was a performance, so more positions were used. I personally liked the scene where he takes me from behind and there is both of us in the camera with the look of pure sex going on. (Is it wrong to be a little turned on at the memory?)

4. Was there a money shot?
There was no money shot visible because it was sliding down my throat, and the camera wasn't that good.

5. Ever watch it, either alone or together?
We watched it together after we filmed it. I did not care for watching myself at all. But I was extremely turned on watching him in it.

6. Does it concern you that the tape is now no longer in your possession?
Oh, god yes! I'm constantly waiting for someone to e-mail me and say, "Hey, guess what I found today on Limewire?" I actually am really good friends with his landlord's friend, and I was tempted to ask him to sneak in there and get it for me. I guess I'll never run for president now.

7. Would you make a tape with me someday? I'd need someone with experience for my first time (um, taping).
Sad to say, but my amateur porn days are over. Alas, I'm off to dignify myself and go on to be in shows such as "The Bachelorette" or "Hot or Not" but I can coach you on your *cough* first time *cough*.

My Night With 14-Year-Old Girls

Ever been to a rock concert and not want to have sex with anyone there? I experienced this phenomenon Saturday night at Roseland. The reason: I didn't want to go to jail.

When a friend who works at Island Records asked if I wanted an extra free ticket to see Sum 41, my immediate reaction was, "Sure, I like young chicks." Little did I know how young. The general-admission ballroom felt like one, big homeroom. Within 15 minutes I was relegated to yelling, "Are there any women in here over 21?!" I got some laughs, but no positive responses.

I felt like such a bad influence drinking beer in front of all this jail bait, until I met a 34-year-old chaperone who said that female students today "give head during lunch." Then I was thinking of buying them beer.

I extended the Twilight Zone theme of the night by dragging my friends to have a beer at the Hard Rock Cafe — had to see what insane tourists would pick the Hard Rock over any other NYC destination at midnight Saturday — where I asked the bartender where the Empire State Building was. Then it was off to Harrison's for live acoustic music and one Michael Jackson "Billie Jean" dance performance from a patron with an unparalleled set of balls.

Anyway, here are some photos I took at the Sum 41 concert.

Also new in the photo gallery: some views from my new windowed office and a few other NYC sights.

Stop, Thief! RowaytonWoods.com Steals My Design

So I come home from work Friday evening and what do I see? RowaytonWoods.com has stolen my design. (If those pussies have since changed it, here is the archived version.)

Now I know the sincerest form of flattery is imitation, but I also know the sincerest form of being a cheap, no-talent, code-stealing bitch is copying one's source code. (Hey, I know, that Paul Katcher guy has a cool site that never references Starbucks, like the 95% of puke-inducing blogs out there. He'll never find out if I view his source and claim it as my own!)

Listen up, RowaytonWoods.com. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to beat me at some kind of Internet game. Like last fucking Tuesday. So drop the design that was inspired, in part, by CPRhosting.com — whose design ideas I paid for. I have a feeling you stole from the wrong site.

God help you if you're some two-bit 20-something punk who thought he could profit off of my work, of which I coded throughout the night — till 7:30 a.m.on a vacation day — to finish. You're close enough to NYC where I can get you. And my throng of supporters are going to have a field day e-mailing webmaster@rowaytonwoods.com with their opinions on your shoddy business practices.

Please post your comments on what you would do if such a situation came up.

Introducing the World's Biggest Chee-to

I was sitting in my company's daily editorial meeting Thursday, discussing the imminent capture of Osama bin Laden (the thought of the world's most notorious goat-fucker being fed his own testicles has me giddier than an 8-year-old on Christmas), when we were asked if there was anything else in the news. Care to guess what was brought up? Iraq? The economy? Middle east violence? Nope, it was the accidental discovery of the world's biggest Chee-to.

I know, I know. I was ashamed, too, that the media was directing so much attention to something as frivolous as war when there are mutant snack chips being discovered in Algona, Iowa, which you may remember from ... absolutely nothing at all.

I can understand why the media has been slow to pick up on the story. In fact, it took a round of questions for our editors and producers to agree on what a Chee-to was. The puffy tube? No, that's a cheese doodle. The square cracker? No, that's a Cheese-It. "Think Chester Cheetah," I said, and soon everyone remembered the Chee-to as the crunchy worm that no one liked.

Anyway, I thought I'd cheer up your Friday with news of chicken-wing-sized cheese snacks and other ridiculousness found on the vast wasteland (except for the porn) we call the Internet.

Other Web Finds:

Teen Collects 3,500 Cheetos Bags — Teen also collects absolutely no attention from girls.

Masturbate for Peace — Using self-love to end conflict. Includes the following bumper-sticker ideas: War is Crappy, Slap Your Pappy; War Is Heinous, Thumb Your Anus; and Cream Your Khakis, Not Iraqis. (Thanks, Joe)

The Match.com Dare — One woman's challenge to see how many men would respond to her pathetic personal ad, in which she described herself as a two-legged tank with more baggage than TWA.

'Crapulous' Is a Word — It was Merriam-Webster's word of the day for Thursday, and I am never again talking to my coworker who is nerdy enough to get these delivered daily to her e-mail.

Stinking Badges Home Page — Multimedia of variations on the famous phrase from The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. Don't miss the video of the WWF's Stone Cold Steve Austin delivering it to Kurt Angle. Also represented: WKRP in Cincinnati, Bosom Buddies and The Simpsons.

Wise Fart Sayings — As if there were any bad ones, but I am partial this these words of wisdom: "A fart is nothing but the lonely cry of an imprisoned turd."

If the Gettysburg Address Was Done on Powerpoint — I linked to this over a year ago, but whatever. My next viewing of a worthwhile Powerpoint presentation will be my first.

And Finally...

U.S., Pakistan Intensify the Search for bin Laden — This front-page item in Friday's edition of the Washington Post is brought to you by the letter P for party at my place when he's captured.

Torture This Motherfucker Till He Sings

For more than 16 months since Sept. 11, 2001, we have been implored to never forget, as if it were a choice. And over that time, during which I've read countless essays trying to make sense of a world turned upside down — I judge time now not by what grade I was in but whether it was pre- or post-9/11 — I have never forgotten the message in one of the first editorials written after the attacks: "The Case for Rage and Retribution," by TIME's Lance Morrow.

Said Morrow the day after thousands of innocent people were murdered: "Anyone who does not loathe the people who did these things, and the people who cheer them on, is too philosophical for decent company."

And so now we debate the issue of how best to coerce Khalid Shaikh Mohammed, the captured suspected organizer of the Sept. 11 attacks, into delivering information that will help the free world break up murderous terrorist cells. And my suggestion is any fucking way possible.

Does that include torture? If he aids terrorist organizations by withholding information, absolutely. This is not the mailman who got a speeding ticket. This is a monster.

He had his chance to be treated humanely. He gave it up when he turned into an accomplice to murder over and over and over again. Until the bodies piled up into the thousands. The legacy of the pain he administered to families around the world are incalculable.

Time for us to bring the pain now. Not so much for revenge, but for results. To achieve the only goal I ever hoped for after 9/11: to make sure that shit never fucking happens again.

If scratching his eyes out accomplishes that task, let them roll to the wall. If he's executed with a couple less limbs than he had on 9/11, I'm not gonna cry for him. He helped cut up sons and daughters into 20,000 body parts that my neighbors had to clean up and will have nightmares about forever. Send his fucking head to the Pearl family to piss on.

Another quote from Morrow's essay: "The worst times, as we see, separate the civilized of the world from the uncivilized. This is the moment of clarity. Let the civilized toughen up, and let the uncivilized take their chances in the game they started."

Time to pay up, bitch.

Other Khalid Shaikh Mohammed Links:

Father of Murdered Son Calls for Torture — The father of a young man killed in the Bali bombing says, "If he's tough enough to blow things up and kill people, let's see if he can withstand torture. Give him to four or five of the parents (who lost children in Bali). We'll make him talk."

Detention and Interrogation Methods in the War on Terror — Says Rafael Epstein, "After speaking to ten currently serving US national security officials the Washington Post revealed the CIA's interrogation or "stress and duress" techniques. Blindfolded and manacled captives are kept standing or kneeling for hours. They're tied up in awkward, painful positions and they're deprived of sleep, held in tiny rooms for days at a time. Those rooms are flooded with light or painfully loud noise. Some are beaten when they're initially arrested, thrown into the walls while blindfolded."

Terror Suspect to Be Treated Humanely — Sure, why not? What's he done wrong? Of course, "humanely" is arbitrary.

Is it OK to Torture Terrorists? — Rod Liddle of The Guardian chimes in on the issue.

Amnesty International: Sept. 11 Suspect Must Not Be Tortured — They want him tried under international law. I want to stop al-Qaeda from blowing up bodies whenever it damn well feels like it.

New York as You've Never Seen It

I never heard of Dave Frieder until Tuesday morning, when I saw an article in Time Out New York detailing his work and announcing his lecture "On Top of the World: Photographing NYC's Bridges," which was held March 3 at the Greater Astoria Historical Society. I've been missing a lot.

Frieder's free time is not spent watching "Joe Millionaire" or reading the National Enquirer. Instead, he climbs New York's majestic bridges and photographs them from perspectives that would otherwise be unavailable to our eyes. (Dave's gallery | Photo Techniques' profile.)

In other words, we see New York in a different way, literally, because Dave Frieder, a 49-year old self-employed repairman, is among us. Like the bridges themselves, Frieder's work is bold, courageous and awe-inspiring. Some of the world's great wonders are bridges — certainly the Brooklyn Bridge was when it opened in 1883 — and I never fail to stand and one end, look across agape and mouth, "Holy fuck." Frieder's photos elicit the same reaction.

That is the mark of a valuable life. You gotta make your exit someday having left something, concrete or intangible but definitely inspirational, that leaves at least one person saying, "Well, I'll never see/hear/feel/taste/smell the likes of that again." Bold photography counts. Great parenting counts. Creating music counts. Making people laugh counts.

Does eating a lot of hot dogs at Gray's count?

Frieder will be giving another lecture and slide show on March 24 at 7:30 p.m. at Roosevelt Island Historical Society (Westview Community Room, 635 Main Street, Roosevelt Island). Go support a true, original New York artist.

Other New York Links:

WTC Mementos Removed From St. Paul's Chapel — No one could pass those fences in the last year and a half and not feel both immense sadness from the sight of "missing" posters and tremendous appreciation for the well-wishing schools, churches and organizations around the country who sent signed bed sheets. I wish they'd kept it all up. I will always remember the good, just as I will never forget the evil.

The Truth Comes Out: New York Post Is Gay — Well, they are infatuated with outing people. I love the Post, but it definitely dances with its hands above its head.

N.Y. Sports' Studs & Duds — The gay Post reveals the best and worst of New York's sportsmen. Jorge Posada immature? What, just 'cause he's straight? Bravo for recognizing Kerry Collins as a model pro athlete. That's why we give people second chances. And third if needed. This is America, after all.

Tube 'Rudy' a Boob — The Daily News reports that the upcoming USA movie is an "uneasy mix of 9/11 fact and fiction." Why, oh why, would anyone view a Hollywood production of the most documented event in the history of the world? Ever. Ever.

Hurricane Warning: It's Mardi Gras

Well, it's been a whole year since drunk women flashed their breasts for drunk men. No wait, that was just four nights ago at Coyote Ugly. Nonetheless, today we celebrate Mardi Gras, which in English means Party in a Lot of Urine.

I've never been to Mardi Gras, and I don't plan to. The reason: the image to the right. Pictured are 400 guys and two women. One's ugly and the other puts the fat in Fat Tuesday. Guys, you can do better than that in a gay bar. One that doesn't smell like week-old puke.

The whole scene looks a little creepy and date-rapey, and resembles a factory of the most moronic by-product of gathering sexually pent-up, drunk men in close quarters (especially French ones): fights. Perhaps that's why comedian Dave Attel once said, "New Orleans has the same weather all year long: mostly drunk with a good chance of jerk."

That being said, the French Quarter, where I have visited each of the past two years, has its pros, which are, well, the pros. Like the late-shift nurses I had some beers with at the Velvet Dog at 7 a.m. (or whatever the hell time it was when the sun came up). There's also live music everywhere and no cover anywhere, cheap beer and friendly (if NASCAR-loving) tourists. And did I mention the hot dogs?

Among the cons are, you guessed it, the cons. The whole place feels like a sucker joint, with more people looking to take your dollar than a beggar's convention in Times Square. And the bars kinda feel the same night after night. The same bands playing the same songs at the same time at the same places. Wish they were a little more improvisational. Otherwise, it feels too programmed, relegating the patrons to feeling like just another insignificant $20 bill.

So why can't I wait to get down there when the Giants visit the Saints next season? 'Cause it sure beats the shit out of spending a weekend in Minneapolis.

Mardi Gras Links:

Chip's Mardi Gras Links — A guy who used to be — and maybe still is — a big fan of PK.com runs the best MG-related portal on the web. He's found a zillion personal sites from previous years and a bunch of new ones for 2003.

BourboCam — A webcam that's more than stationary, silent cameras. I've watched some hosted cable-access-type programs that are good for a laugh even when it's not Mardi Gras.

Playboy.com's Mardi Gras Special — Hef's crew is there every year. And they bring cameras. Hooray for them. I think those bastards are putting most everything behind a member's area, though, so guys might have to settle for the 12 trillion other photos of naked women available free online.

How Stuff Works: Mardi Gras — Apparently, the event is more than beer and breasts. Like anyone cares.

Mardi Gras Parties in NYC — A listing of specials around town from MurphGuide.com. I imagine I'll grab myself a hurricane somewhere.

Confessions of a Female Voyeur

The other day I was trading e-mails with a longtime PK.com supporter. Somehow the conversation turned to sex, perhaps because every time I trade e-mails with females, I interject something sex-related.

Anyway, we got to comparing stories about voyeurism — she's a big fan — and about how disappointing results have been in the year and a half since I moved into an apartment that overlooked at least 200 others. Two measly sex sessions (one Asian couple, one Indian couple), an unacceptable bedtime wardrobe (granny underwear and pajama bottoms) worn by the best-looking gal within viewing and too many women who had no one around to entertain them besides cats. And now, the residents of the somewhat bankable apartments have moved out. Boring.

But this chick has more stories than Ron Jeremy, so I asked if she would share some for the class. Here ya' go...

Rumor has it — and this is because you told me — that you enjoy peering into apartments to watch people having sex. Is this a real hobby or do you just take a quick peek occasionally?
I wouldn't label it as a hobby, but then I would never turn away a chance at a peek. Though it seems like people are constantly hooking up everywhere. I swear that the people having sex want to be watched as much as we want to watch them. I have spotted people, not only in apartments, but in high rise business buildings during the business day going at it. I cannot think of one person who would actually look away and ignore the activities of others participating in sexual activities. Why would you? You can always learn a new trick, so to speak, by watching others. The first time I ever had sex was outside of a dorm of a NJ college, and I was unaware that we had a captive audience. The applause at the end gave it away. I was mortified at first — this was my first time — but I was turned on just as much.

Ever contemplate why voyeurism excites you?
Absolutely. I think when you are raised very strict Irish Catholic, like I was, you are always "protected" by your parents from anything "sinful." Being raised in such a sheltered environment always made me curious to what my parents were trying to shield me from and what was so sinful. So I had to sneak around and snoop which in itself is an act of voyeurism. I always wanted to know what was going on behind closed doors, but don't dare get caught. Catching people or watching people have sex can be a violation of their privacy, but then again they shouldn't leave their blinds/curtains open or fuck in public places. As a kid, we had to "peek" on others because we weren't supposed to know what was going on. Like Dads always hiding their Playboys under the mattress or in a closet-we knew there was something hidden that we shouldn't know about and we wanted to know what it was. This strict upbringing, I believe, is the root of a lot of my sexual wants and needs, and I don't recommend that people shelter their children. Like spanking — my parents didn't believe in hitting us even when we were bad. So when I am being "bad" I liked to be spanked, but that is a whole other interview.

What's your voyeur routine like? From where do you like to watch? Use any equipment?
Usually, the voyeurism is not totally premeditated. I have binoculars in my car which are pertinent to my job, though they can be a tool for voyeurism. When I visit my friends in Manhattan or Philadelphia, where everything is a high rise, then it only seems natural to bring them out. I used to work in Center City Philadelphia and we used to watch a couple fucking every day at lunch time in an office building across from ours. I don't think they even realized they had a captive audience. During the blizzard of 1996, myself and my coworkers got snowed in at a hotel near our office. We ended up in the bar all night drinking with the man who has these lunchtime fucks, we recognized him immediately, though we had never formally met him prior to this. Since I had already put away too many martinis, I told him that we have all seen him naked already and informed him of our lunch time ritual that coincided with his. After that he went to GREAT lengths to put on an extra special show for us at lunch. He got off on it as much as we did. The one that I have to describe as the worst, but the best was in NYC. My best friend lived in Murray Hill with a great view of many other apartment buildings. I bought her a telescope for Christmas just so we could watch people. So we cracked open the wine and started to look into other people's windows and their lives. We caught an older Jewish couple at the age of 60 or 70 having sex in their living room. There was lots of wrinkling, sagging white pasty skin and we were near disgust, yet couldn't stop watching. The best part of that story is that we knew they were Jewish because the man was wearing only his black old man socks and his yarmulke!

What kind of action have you seen? What's turned you on the most? What would you most like to see?
I have seen all kinds of interesting positions, and toys come into play. What is the best is when the people are attractive, and they look fabulous fucking. I also enjoy it when you see someone you know, friend or co worker, in the act. You always feel like you have a little something on them, and sometimes it makes you like them more. I have found from experience from having summer shore homes with girls, that the "sweet and innocent" girls are the nastiest in bed. They do things that they would just die if anyone found out about, and you got to witness it first hand. Catching a threesome is like winning the Stanley Cup in voyeurism. You can't believe your witnessing it, and your chances of getting there again may never happen. Though I have caught 3 threesomes in my time. What I would like most to see most is Paul Katcher vacuuming his apartment naked. There is something about a naked man being domestic that turns me on.

Do you share the wealth and keep your blinds open?
I used to keep my bedroom blinds open because I thought that people on the outside couldn't' see in. I recently found out that the mailman told a male neighbor that I walk around naked all of the time in my home and he has seen me because the blinds are open. I am not putting myself out there for everyone to look into my windows to see, but if they see anything then I hope that they enjoy it. I do have lesbian stripper neighbors that don't even have window treatments, and they open the windows when they have sex. So you can see everything and hear everything. That does attract some interesting men outside of my building at times. The one lesbian hits on me all of the time, but I do not have any plans to become part of that Pussy Posse.

Do you seek out voyeuristic or amateur/homemade erotic material online?
No, only because it seems like only hairy men and fat women want to make homemade porn. They also seem to think that people want to see them naked.

Any tips on how best to catch people in the act?
On Thursday and Friday nights people are usually coming home from happy hour looking to get laid. You can catch a lot of "one nighters'" on those nights. Saturday, as well all know, is date night so you see good old fashioned fucking on Saturdays. People are always amorous around the holidays, too. Just think of your own sexual pattern, and apply the mentality to others. I saw the best sex in Manhattan, overall. I think NYC has a lot of sexual energy, and everyone gets caught up in it and falls prey to it. Just remember, if you don't want to be watched then turn off the lights and shut the blinds!

Apparently, I Ate Eight Fucking Hot Dogs

Now 30 years and two days old, I am happy to report that I emerged from Friday night's birthday bash alive. Barely.

When I woke up Saturday at 1:30 p.m., shirtless but with jeans on, all I could smell was hot dogs. Four hours later, after a shower and more sleep, I was informed why.

Apparently (I have no memory of this), between 4 a.m. and 5 a.m., after downing what I would estimate were a dozen shots and at least as many beers, I was trying to become the hot dog king of New York by downing not two, not four, not six, but eight hot dogs at Gray's Papaya at 72 Street and Amsterdam. These are actual quotes from an IM conversation with one of the six of my friends who witnessed this:

• "That was a really funny time in Gray's, man. I wish I had it on video."

• "... then this group of five black dudes came in and bought you two more and challenged you to eat them. We were screaming and singing at the top of our lungs while you pasted the two dogs."

• "I can't remember what we were singing, but the whole place was going nuts."

• "No kidding, we were in Gray's for about 45 minutes to an hour."

Later on Saturday, while watching the Roy Jones Jr. fight, another buddy told me I looked like a boxer, out on his feet and with the black dudes rubbing my shoulders and cheering me on. I guess some of them were betting on whether I could do it. God I wish I'd seen it.

We closed up Yogi's at 4 a.m., and apparently (again, no recollection), we were out on the sidewalk when I said, "Wait, I forgot something." I then went back inside to ask the bartender if she'd sleep with me. I have no idea who was working. I hope she was good looking.

Previous to that, 25 people came out to get me ass-wasted at Coyote Ugly, where most of my 23 pictures of the night were taken and which again proved to be the most bankable, good-time place in New York. Thanks to bartenders Melissa, Brandi and Kimmy.

Finally, and in all sincerity, I want to thank all my friends who came out Friday night and all the people from around the country who e-mailed and posted birthday wishes. It meant a lot.

Oh, and I never barfed. And I have four bonus pictures that aren't suitable for Webshots or viewing at work. E-mail me if you wanna see them.